I’ve had many unusual jobs in the course of my career.
I was once an unofficial elf (sans pointy ears) at the Enchanted Village in City Hall Plaza during the holidays. The job consisted mostly of being a security guard in a Santa hat, though I occasionally was stationed at the exit, where I sold ornaments and was forced to listen to an endlessly repeating recording that suggested a rather disturbing relationship between Santa and his reindeer. “Oh, Dancer. Oh, Prancer. Oh, hohohohohohohohooho!”
One of my more interesting jobs was a singing messenger for Eastern Onion Telegrams in Miami. In this role, I wore one of several rather exploitative outfits (hey, it was the early ‘80s), including a kind of modified Playboy Bunny complete with fishnets, high heels and bunny tail, a French Maid costume (yeah, you can use your imagination on that one) and, of course, Wonder Woman. The job wasn’t without its perks, not the least of which was getting paid to work with a hot male stripper named Alfredo.
One night, I was on my way to a gig for a man’s 80th surprise birthday party when I realized that I was totally lost. Since this was before cell phones, I had to drive back to the Holiday Inn on Route One and walk through the bar dressed as Wonder Woman to use the phone for directions. As I was waiting in the parking lot for the 80-year-old’s sonto find me so I could follow him, the security guard approached me. Instead of asking me why I was dressed as Wonder Woman, though, he just chatted me up for a bit and invited me to use the pool. I politely declined.
When I finally arrived at Birthday Boy’s condo, he panicked at the sight of me, apparently assuming I was a hooker. Since Viagra hadn’t been invented yet, I suppose he had a reason for anxiety. I had to reassure him that my only intention was to sing to him, and proceeded to do my little birthday number, complete with stuffed monkey and a tambourine, and set his mind and his loins at ease.